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GRANDPA ABE, WINTER AFTERNOON <br /> The old workhorse neighs in the broken -down shed <br /> behind the stone house, a lowly house <br /> with an earthen floor and a wood stove <br /> that smells of herring and onions. <br /> Abe shakes snow from his jacket <br /> and walks slowly into the kitchen. <br /> Several provinces away <br /> the Czar lights his pipe <br /> drops ash on his velvet chair <br /> and watches his minister muster the army. <br /> The fire sputters <br /> as the youth stands straight <br /> before his Mother, <br /> half afraid she'll fall to the <br /> cold floor, <br /> "I'm leaving in the morning <br /> to live with Max <br /> in the place <br /> where streets are paved with gold." <br /> She grips her knife, <br /> holds it aloft for a long moment. <br /> The chopping resumes. <br /> Abe strides outside in the wintry dusk <br /> to feed the dappled horse. <br /> He turns his blue -gray eyes <br /> half a world away <br /> from the white- haired woman <br /> biting hard on her lower lip, <br /> crying with onions on the cutting board, <br /> alone in faded housedress <br /> and woolen socks. <br /> Deborah Grossman c <br />